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TEACHING ENGLISH 

A 


No. i. 


Methods of Teaching Novels 
May Estelle Cook 


No. 2. 


4 

Editing English Classics 
Lindsay Todd Damon 


Methods of Teaching Rhetoric 
- — —- ■ Robert Herrick 


r 




SCOTT, FORESMAN AND 
COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 
378-388 WABASH AVE¬ 
NUE, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 



















4 


4 


4 

« 


4 


4 


« 4 
4 








Any one of these Essays will be sent postpaid, 
separately, on application to the publishers. 


LAKE ENGLISH CLASSICS 

For College Entrance, 1899, 

UNDER THE EDITORIAL SUPERVISION OF 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B., 

Instructor in English in The University of Chicago. 


LIMP CLOTH. 

SHAKSPERE—Macbeth,.25c. 

John Henry Boynton, Ph.D., Instructor in English, Syracuse 
University. 

MILTON—Paradise Lost, ------ 25c. 

Frank E. Farley, Ph.D,, Instructor in English, Haverford Col¬ 
lege. 

BURKE—Speech on Conciliation with America, - 25c. 

Joseph Villiers Denney, B.A., Professor of Rhetoric and Eng¬ 
lish Language, The Ohio State University. 

CARLYLE—Essay on Burns, - - - - 25c. 

Geo. B. Aiton, State Inspector of High Schools, Minnesota. 

DRYDEN—Palamon and Arcite, - 25c. 

May Estelle Cook, A.B., Instructor in English, South Side 
Academy, Chicago. 

POPE—Homer’s Iliad, Books I., XXII., XXIV, - - 25c. 

Wilfred Wesley Cressy, A.M., Associate Professor of English, 
Oberlin College. 

GOLDSMITH—The Vicar of Wakefield, - - - 30c. 

Edward P. Morton, A.M., Instructor in English, The Indiana 
University. 

COLERIDGE—The Ancient Mariner, - 25c. 

William Vaughn Moody, A.M., Instructor in English, The 
University of Chicago. 

LOWELL—Vision of Sir Launfal, - 25c. 

William Vaughn Moody, A.M., Instructor in English, The 
University of Chicago. 

HAWTHORNE—The House of the Seven Gables, - 35c. 

Robert Herrick, A.B., Assistant Professor of English, The 
University of Chicago. 

DE QUINCEY—The Flight of a Tartar Tribe, - - 25c. 

Charles W. French, A.M., Principal Hyde Park High School, 
Chicago. 

ADDISON—The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers, - 25c. 

Herbert Vaughan Abbott, A.M., Instructor in English, Har¬ 
vard University. 

COOPER—Last of the Mohicans, - 35c. 

(Announcement later.) 



METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


MAY ESTELLE COOK 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































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Methods of Teaching Novels 

BY MAY ESTELLE COOK 

I have been somewhat at a loss to state clearly 
what I understand to be the purpose of the 
novel in the school curriculum. Certainly we 
do not get at the root of the matter if we treat 
story-reading as merely an anaesthetic to make 
the pupil unconscious while we apply the scalpel 
to his tissue of composition; nor yet if we go to 
the other extreme and use this reading as a 
potent stimulant w r hich is to excite the pupil to 
essay high forms of criticism, or to write novels 
of his own. Least of all can the teacher assume 
that fiction in school is for pleasure; for the 
pupil, who is the judge of his own pleasure, 
does not really revel in any compulsory privi¬ 
lege, and with the word “ dry,” which he is 
fairly certain to use of any book he is obliged 
to read, the pure pleasure theory “ crackles and 
goes up in smoke.” Perhaps, on the whole, the 
least unsatisfactory postulate is that novels are 
to be read in school for the purpose of training 
the pupil’s imagination. In admitting this 
principle, we do not differentiate closely between 
the purpose of the novel and the purpose of 
other forms of literature; but I doubt if such 
differentiation is necessary. 

First of all, it is undoubtedly best not to be 
too frank with the pupil about what he is ex- 


Purpose of 
Novels in 
School 


To Train 
Imagination 


2 


METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


Pupils Need 
Not be Told 
Purpose 


Study of 
Character 


Oral 

Themes 


pected to gain from his novel reading. Cer¬ 
tainly it is not profitable to tell him that he is to 
cultivate his imagination, for if there is any 
question on which the schoolboy is perfectly 
firm, it is that he has no imagination, and never 
can have one. Only once have I heard a pupil 
admit that he was possessed of this faculty, and 
that unique egotist saved himself by saying that 
although he could imagine anything, he never 
could put it on paper. Consequently, it is best 
for the teacher, in the matter of explaining his 
design, to say nothing, and to let the pupil some 
day discover from his own handwriting that he 
has a competent imagining power. 

In teaching a novel, unless I am quite mistaken 
in my drawing of conclusions from observed 
phenomena, the natural, and therefore the best, 
point of departure is the study of character. To 
be sure, the pupil’s first interest is in the story 
itself; but very little can be made in the class¬ 
room of the plot-element of a story without 
anticipating the ending, and that, of course, 
would trench upon the pupil’s interest in read¬ 
ing. On the contrary, character-study can be 
begun at once. I have found that it works well 
to have the class make oral themes from the 
time they begin to read a story — that is to say, 
“ Let us make a theme about such and such a 
character,” and to let each pupil give his sen¬ 
tence until we have got together whatever the 
book says about that character, with as much 
else as possible. This is excellent practice, by 
the way, for both teacher and pupil. It helps 
the teacher to see what direction the class are 
likely to take in their reading, and it helps the 


METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 3 


pupils to look sharp for “ points ” as they read, 
as well as to put their points together in coherent 
shape. Another good way is to ask for a written 
theme before the book is many chapters old. 
When one of my classes was reading “Treasure 
Island,” I asked at the close of the third chapter 
for a theme on one of the people already men¬ 
tioned. Twenty-eight out of thirty-one themes 
were upon Billy Bones, in spite of the fact that 
I had tried in class to center attention on the 
doctor, the Squire, and especially on Jim; ac¬ 
cordingly, there was nothing for me to do but 
yield to the pressure, and to study the story 
from the standpoint of Captain Billy Bones, 
noticing what his connection with the other 
choice spirits had been, and what he would have 
done and said in different situations, had not his 
tarry soul been already shuffled into its appro¬ 
priate limbo. 

The quantity of such work must of course de¬ 
pend largely upon the time at the teacher’s dis¬ 
posal. Two character themes on each story 
would certainly do very well; one set of themes 
all upon the main character, another set divided 
among the other characters, at the option of the 
pupil. The oral themes need not take much 
time, and will serve as refreshment for the last 
few minutes of the recitation. If they are not 
taken too seriously, the interest in them will 
probably last until each of the principal charac¬ 
ters has been talked up. 

The quality of these character-studies is a much 
more subtle question. First of all, it dampens 
the ardor of the class to call the themes charac¬ 
ter-studies; for if a boy knows himself to be 


Written 

Themes 


Two 
Themes 
On Each 
Story 


4 METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


Titles of 
Themes 


Characters 
Should be 
Living 
Persons 


Themes 
from Read¬ 
ing Vicar of 
Wakefield 


making a character study, he will try to be liter¬ 
ary, and succeed only in being unnatural. It 
is enough for the pupil to know that he is to say 
what he thinks about a certain character, and to 
give his theme the name of that character. The 
ideal point to be reached is that each character 
shall be realized apart from its surroundings— 
shall be detached from itsbackground, and made 
to stand out by itself. I am not sure that it 
would not be a good plan to have two drawings 
in the room, one of a figure that is well pro¬ 
jected, another of a figure that is flat on the 
paper, and to say to the pupils that their good 
themes are like the first, their poor ones like the 
second. The objection to that plan would be 
that they would feel themselves attacking a 
literary problem, as the art student has attacked 
a problem in drawing; and that feeling, as we 
have said, makes them too self-conscious. The 
point is that we want the pupil to know a live 
person, not a character in a book. The students 
of a noted professor of history sometimes com¬ 
plain that he wants them to know not only what 
did happen, but what would have happened if 
that had n’t happened. That method is certainly 
sound from the literary standpoint, whether it is 
from the historical standpoint or not. In study¬ 
ing Clifford Pyncheon, for instance, it is not 
enough to know what he actually was like, but 
what he would have been like, if misfortune had 
not come to him—to be able, in a word, to know 
him to-day when we see him. 

If I may illustrate, I should like to read four 
short themes written on characters in the “ Vicar 
of Wakefield ” by members of a class that is doing 


METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 5 


work which corresponds to the second year’s 
course in the high school. The themes appear 
as written, with corrections given in footnotes. 

Olivia and Sophia were the two daughters of Dr. Olivia and 
Primrose, Vicar of Wakefield. These two ro?nantic Sophia 
navies were not of the Vicar’s choosing, but were the 
preference of his wife, and one of her friends. Brought 
up without softness , the girls were beautiful, healthy, 
and blooming. Olivia had the luxuriancy of beauty , 
with which Hebe is generally painted, while Sophia’s 
features were modest and alluring , although at first 
less impressive than her sister’s. The one vanquished 
by a single blow , the other by efforts successfully re¬ 
peated. 

Olivia was sometimes affected from too great a de¬ 
sire to please , while Sophia often withheld excellence 
from her fear to offend. Olivia, the eldest, was very 
different from Sophia; but there was a family likeness, 
as both were simple, generous and inoffensive. Olivia 
desired to have many suitors, Sophia to secure one. 

One pleased when you were gay, the other when you 
were serious. 

Both girls were fond of ribbons and finery, but a 
suit of mourning of ten transformed the coquette into a 
prude, while some new ornament gave Sophia un¬ 
usual vivacity. Although they were fond of beautiful 
things, they were slow to recognize beauty in other 
young ladies. But they courted good looks themselves, 
trying to improve both face and hands by washes 
carefully prepared, and avoiding the rays of the sun 
out of doors and the fire within doors. Their mother, 
moreover, insisted that getting up too early spoiled 
their eyes, and that hands were never as beautiful as 
when they did no work. 

The words in italics, which are taken prac¬ 
tically verbatim from the text, show how help¬ 
less the writer was with her subject, and how 
completely she failed. In this case there was 
neither lack of ability nor intention to copy; for 
after further explanation of what was wanted, the 


6 METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


Dr. 

Primrose 


Mrs. 

Primrose 


theme was rewritten with originality and fresh¬ 
ness. 

The second theme shows a much more vivid 
realization of character, but in a way which 
probably would have made Goldsmith unhappy. 

Dr. Primrose was a minister of the gospel, and was 
thought to be a very good man, which no doubt he 
was. But to me he appeared to be a “Jack of all 
trades.” 

For my part, I think that a minister of the gospel 
ought not to be always in ale-houses. He need not 
have gone to an ale-house every time he felt tired, for 
there must have been other places in the town if he 
had tried to find them. 

As for the runaway of his daughter, I think he was 

partly to blame.To my mind, he did not 

make much better success with his son. If he had a 
college education, why did he have to drift around 
the country, and finally, at the end of three years, 
make his appearance with nothing but a “ stick ” and 
“wallet,” imposing upon the people as an actor? 

Then again, how could a Christian father be so 
happy round hie fireside, with a son whom he had not 
heard from in three years; when he did not even know 
whether he was dead or alive ? 

I do n’t find anything in his character to admire. 

The third theme is chosen to show how the 
material in the book may be closely followed, 
and yet touched with real originality. 

* Mrs. Primrose, wife of the eminent Dr. Primrose, 
Vicar of Wakefield and author of so many lengthy 
treatises on the subject of matrimony, was a good- 
natured, comfortable-looking country gentlewoman, 
rather stout, I imagine, as becomes the mother of a 
large family. She had been well brought up, having 
learned all the accomplishments that were considered 
necessary for a young lady to have in her day. She 
could read almost any English book without stopping 


♦Excellent sentence. 



METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 7 


to spell out the words, and, better still, she knew how 
to make the best gooseberry wine in all the county. 

Pickling and preserving were also her forte and 
she could make such delicious side dishes, as venison 
pasty and *face washes. |She was an excellent house¬ 
keeper, always practicing small economies, and her 
husband never regretted having chosen her as she 
chose her wedding gown not so much for its fine sur¬ 
face as for its wearing qualities. 

She was very proud of her two daughters, both very 
beautiful girls with a few of their mother’s good qual¬ 
ities for Mrs. Primrose was constantly reminding 
them that handsome is as handsome does. Never¬ 
theless, she did not hesitate to encourage them in 
their love of finery, nor was she herself always likely 
to choose her gown for its durability. One crimson 
paduasoy, which Dr. Primrose had once said he 
thought very becoming, she kept long after the wreck 
of the family fortunes made it too fine for the little 
cottage they now made their home. 

Her judgment was not always very good as she 
was liable to be prejudiced by fine speeches and fine 
clothes, but, whatever her faults or virtues, she was 
content with herself, and so, of course, she was very 
happy. 

The fourth theme is the best because the boy 
who wrote it had to supply most of the material 

♦Is this intended for a joke? 

f These sentences are both blind and stringy. They should 
read, She was an excellent housekeeper, always practicing small 
economies. Her husband, who had chosen her as she chose her 
wedding-gown, not so much for a fine surface as for wearing 
qualities, never regretted his choice. 

She was very proud of her two daughters, both very beautiful 
girls with a few of their mother’s good qualities; and Mrs. Prim¬ 
rose was constantly reinforcing their inheritance by reminding 
them that handsome is as handsome does. Nevertheless, she 
did not hesitate to encourage them in their love of finery, nor, 
indeed, was she herself always likely to choose her gown for its 
durability. One crimson paduasoy, which Dr. Primrose had 
once said he thought very becoming, she kept long after the 
wreck of the family fortunes, and wore it even though it was too 
fine for the little cottage they now made their home. 


8 METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


Farmer 

Flam- 

borough 


Character 

Study 

Cultivates 

Moral 

Instinct 


himself, and succeeded in doing so without get¬ 
ting any part of his portrait out of focus. 

Farmer Flamborough was a typical, easy-going, 
healthy, comfortable English farmer. He was hospi¬ 
table and generous. His family did not affect the 
gentility that the Primrose family did, and conse¬ 
quently never were snubbed, disappointed nor hum¬ 
bled. He took his defeats or discouragements philo¬ 
sophically, learned by them, and took care that the 
same thing did not happen twice. He never bothered 
his head thinking whether a man married twice or not, 
as long as he left him alone. He would have married 
twice without any hesitation if he had thought it 
necessary. 

When he had got through with his day’s work and 
had eaten his supper, he took his pipe down from the 
shelf, filled it, lighted it with a sort of delicious slow¬ 
ness, common to all men of corpulency who smoke, 
took a seat by the fire, where he was joined by his wife 
and daughters, and there discussed the day’s gossip 
with them or any neighbor who happened to drop in. 

There is another point which I should like to 
make for the study of character, though with 
some hesitation, since there is room for great 
difference of opinion about it. It is this: that 
the study of character leads directly to the exer¬ 
cise of the moral instinct. Whether we like it or 
not, it is true that the schoolboy—even the boy, 
and much more the girl—will raise the question, 
“ Is this right? ” and “ Is n’t this wrong? ” and 
that we must either answer or ignore these ques¬ 
tions. My own feeling about it is that this irre¬ 
pressible moral instinct was included in the 
child’s composition by Providence, partly for the 
purpose of making a special diversion in favor 
of the English teacher. Instead of repressing 
questions of right and wrong, I believe in an- 


METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 9 

swering them, encouraging them, and turning 
them to account in developing the child’s moral 
discrimination. We cannot expect, by any 
teaching of novels, to convert school children 
into cherubim and seraphim, and send them 
on errands of mercy to a sinful world; but we 
can hope, through training their literary dis¬ 
crimination, which we must train, to reach their 
ethical instincts, which it is the peculiar privilege 
of the teacher of English to train. 

But whatever one may think of the advisa¬ 
bility or feasibility of cultivating the pupil’s 
moral nature through the study of character, it 
is certainly true that the moral instinct which is 
appealed to by the study of character may be 
put to good use in stimulating the imagination. 
A boy will read scenes of “Macbeth ” through a 
dozen times for the sake of deciding whether 
Macbeth or Lady Macbeth was chiefly responsi¬ 
ble for the murder of Duncan, when he will read 
them only once for the story; and this extra zeal 
is not so much because he wants to satisfy a 
craving for facts, as because he enjoys fixing 
praise or blame. Take a second example, out¬ 
side the pale of the novel, strictly so-called; 
my experience with the Sir Roger de Coverley 
papers has been that the class failed to get 
any imaginative grasp of them until I frankly 
appealed to the moral instinct by asking^ 
“ What did Addison mean to teach in this 
paper?” “Did the Eighteenth Century need 
that lesson?” and “ Do we still need it? ” By 
that process the class ha?v*e finally reached a 
grasp of Sir Rogw-which has given them forti¬ 
tude to write a theme Sir Roger at an After- 


Moral 
Instinct 
May Help 
Imagination 


Sir Roger 
de Coverley 


10 METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


Why Study 

Character 

First 


Study of 
Description 


noon Tea.” In a word, I understand that the 
relation between the imagination and the moral 
instinct is reciprocal, the imagination informing 
the moral instinct, while the moral instinct in 
turn stimulates the imagination, and that we are 
to make the most of this relation in the study of 
character, for the sake of an enlightened literary 
conscience, if for nothing else. How much it 
behooves us to establish a literary conscience in 
the minds of our pupils, we realize when we re¬ 
flect that by the time the class of ’98 is half 
through college, they will be puzzling their heads 
with the psychological novel of the twentieth 
century, that unimagined labyrinth of ethical 
checks and balances, which even we of mature 
years look forward to with shakiness in the re¬ 
gion of the ten commandments. 

In the study of the novel, even in preparatory 
schools, therefore, I put the study of character 
first, because it is the most available method, and 
because it enlists the aid of the pupil’s moral 
instinct. In the second place belongs descrip¬ 
tion—the description of the appearance of 
people, and of scenes and surroundings. Here 
I believe in letting the pupil know, at least in a 
modified degree, that he has approached a liter¬ 
ary problem. That is, I believe in teaching 
him from the beginning that it is not enough for 
him to see an object himself, but that the thing 
for him to do is to make other people see it; 
in other words, to allow him to know that the 
problem of a second mind is involved, and that 
the question for him to solve is, how best to ap¬ 
peal to that second mind. 

I am strongly of the opinion that the first 


METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS II 


training in description should not come from 
the stories the pupils are reading, but from the 
pupil’s own observation. If a pupil is asked to 
reproduce the scenes of a book before his imagi¬ 
nation has taught him to walk by himself, he 
will creep over the path that is laid down; in 
plain English, he will say what the book says, 
in the words in which the book says it. For 
oral themes, with closed books, this is exactly 
what is wanted; for written themes, it is not what 
is wanted. That is, I think from the very 
beginning it should be understood between 
teacher and pupil that all work written out of 
class is to be absolutely original. The fashion 
of rewriting what is in the book, which in actual 
point of fact is usually done under the head of 
description, leads the pupil on step by step until 
he thinks he has a right, or at least does not 
realize that he has no right, to say what is in 
any book on any subject. And from the humilia¬ 
tion of that lack of conscience on the part of 
pupils we have all suffered. Of course, where the 
teacher can be sure that the pupil is writing only 
what he remembers from his usual reading, the 
exercise of rewriting descriptions is thoroughly 
valuable; but in order to be sure, the teacher 
must reserve this work for class themes, either 
oral or written, the subjects for which have not 
been given out beforehand. With this method 
should go first hand description, of a house, of a 
room, of a picture, of a vase, of a new gown, of 
anything that will teach them accuracy, definite¬ 
ness, vividness, and, if possible, artistic and effec¬ 
tive arrangement. If not more than two themes 
of this sort can be written out of class during 


Describe 

First 

Observation 


S 


Written 
Work 
Should Not 
Copy 


Qualities of 
Description 


12 METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


The Story 
Element 


Suggestive 

Work 


the reading of one book, let the first one come 
from real life and set the fashion, and let the 
second one come from the material in the book, 
but within the narrowest possible limits. For 
example, the little wizened chicken in the garden 
of the House of Seven Gables is a much better 
subject for a theme than the whole garden, for 
there is enough said in the book to set the 
pupil’s imagination to work, and not enough to 
save him from having to supply further material 
of his own. In saying that all papers written 
out of class must be entirely original, I do not 
intend that the teacher shall allow no suggestive 
start to be given, but only that the subject shall 
be so chosen that the working out of the idea 
shall be the pupil’s own. 

The story-element of novels furnishes a wide- 
open question. My own experience goes to 
show that it is hopeless to ask pupils to re-tell a 
long story in a short time. The result is never 
anything but dead and dreary. Nor do I be¬ 
lieve that it is of much use to try in class to tell 
the story out of hand. A few leading questions 
in class answer well to bring out the main points 
of the story, and to help the pupil to appreciate 
situations. With plot pure and simple, as an 
artistic structure, the preparatory school can 
have little to do. In oral themes, and themes 
written without warning in class, short scenes 
may be reproduced to good advantage. But for 
themes written out of class, I think again it is 
much better to allow the pupil as much chance 
as possible for “making things up,” by giving 
him, for example, the beginning of a fairy story 
to finish, or by reading or telling him a short 


METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 13 

story to reproduce; or, in the case of an 
advanced pupil, by asking him to write a 
new ending for the novel he is reading. In 
reality, the story part of a novel comes nearer 
taking care of itself than any other part, and the 
most interesting thing to do with it is to talk it 
over in class, for the purpose of seeing how one 
situation leads to another, and what the bearing 
of each situation is on the whole story. In a 
word, the plot-element is excellent material for 
class discussion, but poor material for themes. 

If this paper lays especial emphasis on the use 
of novels as material for composition, it is be¬ 
cause the writer is convinced that written work 
is the best test of the pupil’s knowledge of what 
he has read, and that practice in composition is 
the present lack in our method of teaching 
English. The amount of writing to be done on 
each book must, of course, be determined by 
circumstances. It is safe to say that two char¬ 
acter-themes and two themes of description from 
each story would not be too much for the pupil’s 
good. If only one theme can be written on a 
book, it is much better to let that theme be 
written about one character in the book than 
about the whole book; or, if a description can be 
called for which is so scattered through the book 
as to necessitate the reading of the whole book, 
that one description is better than too big a 
subject, provided only the teacher is sure that 
the pupil will not copy it. 

The question of reading the story in class is a 
mooted one, and is also one which must be an¬ 
swered according to circumstances. Doubtless, 
in many cases class reading is essential, because 


Class 
Conversa¬ 
tion on Plot 


Stress Laid 
on Writing 


Reading 
Novels in 
Class 


14 METHODS OF TEACHING NOVELS 


Read to 
Know 
Living 
People 


pupils have not yet learned to read intelligibly. 
But unless it is strictly necessary, that practice 
may well give place to more interesting ways of 
spending the time, especially if the class is in¬ 
clined to doze or rustle under the reading. In 
general, it should give way, when possible, to 
elementary work in English composition—work 
which can be made fairly exciting, though not 
without great dynamic force on the part of the 
teacher. 

In the end, the hope for this reading of 
novels, like that for the reading of other forms of 
literature, is that it shall fill the house of litera¬ 
ture with living people, not with puppets and 
mummies, and that it shall teach pupils to walk 
through life with their eyes so open and their 
imaginations so trained that they can get great 
pleasure from very little things. Accordingly, 
we must try as best we may to teach students to 
see a little at a time, but to see that little in 
actual existence. 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


LINDSAY TODD DAMON 





































































































Editing English Classics. 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, INSTRUCTOR IN ENGLISH, 

THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO. 

Within half a generation the preparatory course in 
English has almost completely re-made itself. Once 
schools and colleges had recognized that even sub¬ 
freshman English was a serious affair, and might be 
made a scholarly one, the old system of talking much 
about literature and reading nothing but books of 
extracts was doomed. In its place came an endeavor 
to know literature at first hand. This definite advance 
toward something like a scholarly treatment of poems, 
plays and novels, led to the formation of a new book¬ 
making industry. If the pupils must read a few 
books, and read those few thoroughly, something more 
than a mere text must be provided. So sprang up 
the practice of editing the " classics,” a practice 
which, in the last five or six years, has produced so 
many volumes and so many systems of editing that 
both editor and publisher are now stopping to ask 
what, after all, is the correct method of preparing 
English classics for school use. 

Editing, however, is not so new as the college 
requirements in English, and when the fashion of 
reading annotated editions in class began, there were 
already many editions of Milton, Shakspere and 
other lesser writers. These ready-made books for a 


The Rise of 
the Edited 
School 
Classic 


2 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


The Earlier 

Annotated 

Editions 


The Faults 
of the Older 
Editions 


time supplied the need. For a much longer time 
they prescribed the form of editorial comment. Obvi¬ 
ously one cannot refer to these editions by name, but 
we all know the old plan of editing. First the editor 
cut out anything that had, in his opinion, the least 
approach to an offense against propriety. Having 
thus mutilated the work of, let us say, Shakspere, 
the editor caught eagerly at every word which seemed 
to him in any way strange, and piled note upon note 
until pseudo-philological comments filled about two- 
thirds of the space allotted to annotation. That these 
notes were often wrong did not in the least destroy 
the editor’s joy in making them. To this body of 
notes the editor then added a great deal of ecstatic 
praise about scenes, speeches and even particular 
phrases. Second-hand appreciations were forced 
upon the uncritical reader, and before he knew what 
the lines of the play he was reading meant, he was 
told in exclamatory fashion, “ Here you must stop to 
admire.” So the student reading Macbeth , and com¬ 
ing to the line, “Avaunt, and quit my sight!” has 
actually been told to “ Imagine the effect of this 
explosive sentence in the dead silence preceding the 
drinking of the toast, the lords on their feet with 
glasses at their lips.” 

The defects in such books were evident. Since they 
were not accurate, even in linguistic matters, they 
could not be praised for scholarship. Since the crit¬ 
ical notes were usually the vaguest and thinnest sort 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


3 


of borrowed appreciation they could not be accepted 
for their literary insight. And, finally, since they 
were made with but little regard for the actual work 
of teaching, and told the pupil in so many words, 
things that meant nothing to him unless he found 
them out for himself, they could not be regarded as 
useful instruments in the class-room. So there came 
about the numerous and even more heavily-edited 
series that now occupy the field. 

The work on this second class was infinitely better 
than that on the first. The really serious nature of 
the editor’s task became apparent. The demand for 
accuracy was answered, and the teaching facilities of 
the books were much increased. Biographies, criti¬ 
cal studies of the book and the author in question, and 
of the time in which the author wrote, were supple¬ 
mented by numerous suggestions to teachers. In the 
midst of the older sort of notes, now happily stripped 
of much of the borrowed appreciation, came fre¬ 
quent questions meant to stimulate the pupil. The 
work was all carefully done—indeed, perhaps, too 
carefully done, if we may accept the present judg¬ 
ment of the teaching world. The editors seem in 
many cases to have worked rather with an eye to the¬ 
ories than to the actual needs of the class-room. 
The critical and historical apparatus provided for the 
pupil must, of course, be considerable ; but when the 
editor, desirous of making a book, overlays the origi¬ 
nal so deeply that his explanations occupy two or 


The Growth 
of Editorial 
Matter 


4 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


The Bad 
Proportions 
of Current 
Editions 


three times the space allotted to the author, the result 
is grotesque. 

An examination of the proportions of one of these 
classics will perhaps be to the point. To be fair, I 
choose one of the books which need the very heavi¬ 
est annotation. No young student can read Paradise 
Lost understanding^ without a considerable body of 
purely interpretative comment. Yet one might ex¬ 
pect the editor’s work to be no greater in extent than 
that of the poet himself. An examination, however, 
of four current school editions of the first two books 
of Paradise Lost reveals the following state of affairs. 
In the first and most modest of the four, the work of 
the editor covers one hundred and thirty pages, the 
work of Milton one hundred and thirty-four. In the 
second, Paradise Lost itself covers about thirty pages, 
theeditorialmatterone hundred and thirty-three pages. 
In the third, the text occupies fifty-four pages and the 
editorial matter one hundred and fourteen. In the 
fourth,an unpaged edition, the poet uses thirteen thou¬ 
sand words, the editor thirty-six thousand. Surely the 
pupil, who at best comes to Paradise Lost with the no¬ 
tion that he has a long and tedious task, will not be the 
keener in his attention for this gross mass of exterior 
matter. I do not wish to be misunderstood. Much 
of the information given in the notes and prefaces of 
this sort is absolutely indispensable. The pupil must 
know, and the editor must tell him, who and what 
John Milton was, what the poem of Paradise Lost 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


5 


means as a whole, and what are the numerous differ¬ 
ences between Milton’s English and ours. Otherwise 
no school-boy would understand what he was read¬ 
ing. But it is certainly possible to give this material, 
or at least so much of it as the pupil can use, in a 
much shorter space. 

After all, the editor is not so bound to answer “ what 
does the pupil need” as “what can the pupil use.” 
And the real duty of an editor toward the pupil is to 
supply him with enough biographical and critical 
matter for an understanding of the individuality and 
the situation of the author in so far as they affect his 
work, and further, to clear up the more troublesome 
obscuritiesoflanguageandallusioninthetext. Toward 
the teacher also the editor has a duty. If he makes 
his book so full that he has destroyed all chance of 
sending a pupil to other places for information ; in 
other words, if he has made his notes a combined 
encyclopedia and dictionary, he has harmed, not only 
the pupil, but also the teacher, because the latter at 
once loses the position of the directing force. If in 
addition the editor points out all the things the pupil 
should admire and all the things he should not admire, 
if he tells Master Smith that “in this particular scene 
in Macbeth you see unfolded just this or that,” he has 
made the teacher a quite unnecessary officer. Of a 
well-known edition of Shakspere one teacher says: 
“ This book invariably answers the questions I want 
to ask the class.” The editor must be content to give 


The Double 
Duty of the 
Editor 


6 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


No 

Universal 

Edition 

Possible 


The Two 
Classes of 
Books to be 
Edited 


his work a suggestive rather than an exhaustive char¬ 
acter. His function is merely starting the pupil on 
the right critical road and then throwing light upon 
the darker places in that road. Anything else is 
from him an impertinence. 

It must be borne in mind, however, that every edi¬ 
tion is the result of a certain amount of compromise. 
Could each teacher make an edition for his class, and 
for his class only, he would, had he the requisite knowl¬ 
edge, make the best possible edition for those stu¬ 
dents. But this is impossible. The editor must be 
more or less of a specialist, and he must furnish ma¬ 
terial, which, unnecessary to one teacher, is necessary 
to another. Many a teacher objects to long intro¬ 
ductory biographies, to suggestions to teachers, and 
to tables of bibliography. Yet to the teacher forced 
to exist out of the range of good libraries, such ma¬ 
terial is often extremely useful. In point of fact no 
good teacher ought to be completely satisfied with 
any edition. He should reject much and add much. 
The only question that it is possible to touch in a paper 
of this sort is, “ What are the general lines upon 
which the editors of English classics should work?” 

There are, to begin with, two definite sets of books. 
The modern novel and usually the modern poem can 
be read intelligently with little or no explanatory 
comment. Not so the older books. From the Sir 
Roger de Coverley papers to Macbeth there is an ever 
increasing need for explanatory matter. The intro- 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


7 


ductions of the two sorts, however, practically meet 
the same demands, and I therefore dismiss the more 
vexed question of annotation until I have discussed 
the easier one of the introduction. 

In general the introduction should, I believe, contain 
a brief, compact biography of the author, should give 
some hint of the literary conditions under which the 
author wrote, and some definite criticism of the book 
in question. A brief biography, however, does not 
mean a dry list of facts and dates. And throughout 
this introductory material, which certainly should not 
be great in bulk, the editor must aim at arousing in 
the pupil a desire to know the book he has to read, 
and the man who wrote it. I cite here an extract 
from a letter by a successful teacher of English in a 
large preparatory school. Of the introduction to The 
Vicar of Wakefield in a current edition she says, “ I 
feel very much the need (and the lack) of two things 
here: first, something pertinent about Goldsmith 
himself, neither a list of his writings nor his gambling 
debts ; second, some safe candle-flame of light on the 
subject of the book itself—something that would 
place it among books and tell why, if it is not in all 
respects perfect, it is at least better than some other 
things.” It may possibly be well, in dealing with the 
plays of Shakspere, to add to material of this sort a 
very brief account of the sources. But of that one 
cannot be so sure, because if questions of scholarship 
are admitted into the introductions they will have no 


The Intro¬ 
ductions for 
both Classes 
of Books 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


Annotation 
of Modern 
Books 


8 * 

limit, and will often bewilder instead of stimulating 
the youthful mind. 

The Vicar of Wakefield is an excellent illustration 
of the sort of book that needs only a little annotation. 
It is so simple a story, written in so simple a style, 
that any great body of exegetical comment is super¬ 
fluous. And yet even here it seems necessary to 
furnish a few notes of the dictionary sort. The young 
student certainly does not know, without some formal 
explanation, what “country dances” are, what it is to 
“ fling a quatre,” and who were “ Johnnie Armstrong ” 
and “ cruel Barbara Allen.” And in these later days, 
days of careless and cheap reading, it is much to be 
doubted whether the school-boy knows what a “ smock 
race ” is or what happens when the gypsy has her hand 
“crossed with silver.” Yet he should know these things 
before he comes into class, for the time there is needed 
for other things. So the editor must give these bits of 
information. Only let him give them as unobtru¬ 
sively as possible, that the reader’s mind may never 
for long be drawn off the text itself. If the editor can 
in addition give a few sensible and suggestive ques¬ 
tions, it will be well. Questions, however, should be 
really suggestive. When one editor in The Princess 
says, “ Winter's Tale : Have you read it?” it can 
hardly be said that he has stimulated the pupil’s 
mind. 

With what has been said so far, I fancy few teach¬ 
ers will differ. With what I am about to say I fear 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


9 


many will differ. Yet it seems to me axiomatic that 
with the second class of the prescribed classics, the 
plays of Shakspere, the poems of Milton, and so on, 
there comes a greaterdemand on the notes. We can no 
longer rely upon a few simple notes. To be sure, the 
ultimate end of teaching literature is “ the attainment 
of a joy,” but joy in things intellectual, as a rule, im¬ 
plies comprehension, and the joy of the school-boy 
w T ho reads Macbeth without knowing exactly what 
Shakspere says is hardly a higher order of pleas¬ 
ure than the vague joy that comes from pleasant 
sounds. “ Infants, it is said,” writes Mr. Manly of 
Brown University, “ have been known to manifest 
delight at hearing the Paradise Lost read aloud, and 
scarcely different or higher is the pleasure of those 
who, under the delusion that they are reading poetry, 
allow a stream of melodious sounds and lovely images 
to sweep through minds which only catch now and then 
a half meaning as it gleams through the mist of lazi¬ 
ness and stupidity.” This is true of all poetry. More¬ 
over, in Shakspere and Milton we find two difficul¬ 
ties which mere strenuousness of attention will not 
overcome—difficulties of language and difficulties of 
allusion. Again, to support my opinion by author¬ 
ity, I quote Mr. Manly: “ If one does not know the 
meaning of a word or the form of a construction, 
there is obviously nothing to do but to find it out.” 
And when, as is the case with most of the peculi¬ 
arities of Elizabethan idiom and many of the allu- 


Annotation 
of Shak¬ 
spere, Milton 
and other 
Older Books 


IO 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


The Real 
Question 
one of Ar¬ 
rangement 
and 

Proportion 


sions of Elizabethan writing, the grammar and the 
dictionary afford no help, should not the pupil find 
these things explained for him by the editor ? Cer¬ 
tainly no school-boy yet known to teachers has ever 
successfully used Schmidt’s Shakspere Lexicon cr 
Abbotts Shakspere Grammar, and certainly the 
teacher should not be forced to spend his time explain¬ 
ing what “galliards” and “corantos” and “kerns” and 
“ gallowglasses ” are. Mere comprehension of the 
language the teacher should expect from the pupil at 
the beginning of the recitation, not at the end. And 
I repeat, where will the pupil get his facts if the 
editor does not give them to him ? It would seem 
that those teachers who say the editor must inspire, 
but not interpret, are wrong. The inspiration must 
come in the main from the author and the teacher, 
not from the editor, and the dryer explanation must 
as a rule, be given by the editor. 

The real question, however, is hardly one of what 
should be annotated, but of what should be the 
extent and the form of the notes. The complaint of 
the teachers against what they call “ mere philological 
notes ” is half justifiable. When the linguistic com¬ 
ment quite out-balances the text itself, and is so put 
that the student goes away thinking that he has read 
Shakspere to find out what “gallowglasses” are, and 
not that he has learned “ gallowglasses ” to find out 
what Shakspere means, something is wrong. The 
editor really must take a firm stand both against him- 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS II 

self and against the extremists among the teachers. 
He must give the information that pupils need, but— 
and here he must accept the teacher’s advice—he 
must give it as briefly and unobtrusively as possible. 

How can he make the notes unobtrusive ? When 
he has once settled the comparative proportions of 
introduction, linguistic comment and suggestive ques¬ 
tion, it comes to be merely a problem of arrangement. 
Most of the texts that are used to-day are very frankly 
text-books, and sometimes very badly arranged text¬ 
books. Many of them have section after section in 
which critical notes are separated from explanatory 
notes, and both set off from grammatical notes, until 
the division reaches positive obscurity. Again, either 
the pages containing the references to notes are 
spotted with little figures referring the pupil hither 
and thither among notes grouped in the back of the 
book, or the notes are printed at the foot of the page, 
where they often grow so voluminous that the text 
covers not much more than a line or two of the page. 
How, in either of these cases, the pupil can get a really 
literary conception of the book is almost incompre¬ 
hensible. I say this in spite of the fact that theoreti¬ 
cally the notes are most easily read into the text if 
they are either at the bottom of the page or are dis¬ 
tinctly referred to by numbers printed in the text. As 
a possible way out of the dilemma, and a way involv¬ 
ing only one subdivision of material, I suggest this 
plan : arrange all linguistic and explanatory notes 


Notes 
should be 
Unobtrusive 


12 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


Notes in 
Glossary 
Form very 
Compact 


Summary 


in a glossary at the back; print the few critical 
notes and the suggestive questions, which will never 
occupy more than a minute fraction of the space, at 
the bottom of the pages. In The Revolt of a Tartar 
Tribe t for instance, nearly everything that needs 
comment can be put in a glossary, to which the pupil 
can turn directly to find the meaning of “ Huns,” 
“ Tartars,” “Avars,” “Translation,” etc. And I be¬ 
lieve that this plan will prove a happy one, even 
with the plays of Shakspere and the poems of Milton. 

In brief, the results of this hasty examination of a 
very important question are these. Granting that the 
purpose of the editor of a classic is to make the 
pupil understand that classic, he must be brief in 
all things. Purely appreciative comment, “ sign-board 
criticism,” is to be avoided because it fosters insin¬ 
cerity in the pupil: nine-tenths of it should be thrown 
away, and the other tenth should give place to sug¬ 
gestive questions. The notes should be confined to 
those things which actually cry for explanation. But 
once there is need for explanation the editor must 
not hesitate to give it, even if it occupies considerable 
space. Linguistic investigation should be more rigid¬ 
ly confined, but it can never, like critical comment, be 
done away with entirely. Above all, no matter how 
much or how little editorial work the book in question 
demands, it should all be done with an eye to the class¬ 
room, and the material should be so arranged that 
the pupil in preparing for his class work need not 


EDITING ENGLISH CLASSICS 


13 


look vainly in half a dozen places before, in an ob¬ 
scure corner, he finds the note he should have dis¬ 
covered at a glance. 

These are weighty questions. The edited classic 
has a long and important future. The sooner we find 
out just what should be done so that the pupil may 
both know and enjoy what he reads, the better. My 
own judgment is that the only purpose the editor has 
is to explain the book that the pupil may, by his own 
imagination, and the teacher’s counsel, add enjoy¬ 
ment to understanding. 



METHODS OF TEACHING 

RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


ROBERT HERRICK 



Methods of Teaching Rhetoric in Schools. 

BY ROBERT HERRICK. 

English is no longer a neglected study in the sec¬ 
ondary school curriculum. “ English The Core of 
A Secondary Course,” the title of a paper to be read 
this summer before the National Educational Asso¬ 
ciation, indicates a rising wave of enthusiasm for 
English study that threatens to carry us to absurd 
heights. Glancing over the syllabus of a course in a Modern 
English prepared by a teacher in one of our largest 
and most efficient high schools, I find that, beginning English 
with a review of grammar and “ the simpler forms of Course 
rhetorical principles” during the first term of the first 
year, the pupil is treated in the second term to,—“The 
Paragraph: Its Form, Structure, Growth. Unity, 

Clearness and Force in Sentence and Paragraph 
Structure. The Humorous as a Quality of Style.” 

The second year’s work manages diction, a study of 
figures of speech, and “ original epithets and figures 
of speech put in literary form ” ; the third provides 
for versification and “ the .Esthetic Qualities of 
Style,” while during the same period the youth is 
let into the mysteries of the four kinds of com¬ 
position, closing in his last year with the study of 
persuasion. One is inclined to exclaim : What is 
there left for the poor college teacher, when the 
pupil, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, has 


2 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


Written 
work of 
Freshmen 


thus exhausted the fields of narration, “ Criticism as 
a Department of Letters,” exposition, argument and 
oratory, to say nothing of “ The Humorous as a Qual¬ 
ity of Style,” “ The ./Esthetic Qualities of Style,” and 
versification? 

Yet the first piece of written work presented by the 
freshman reassures the college teacher that the pupil 
after having been ‘‘put through” this course is a 
normal person after all: he cannot write, and he has 
only the vaguest idea of the application of the rhetor¬ 
ical terms he has allowed to slip safely through his 
brain. His vocabulary is attenuated and over¬ 
worked ; he rarely ventures beyond the length of three 
sentences in forming a paragraph ; his thought comes 
with spasmodic interruptions. What he is suffering 
from is too much English and not enough English at 
the same time. Let me explain. In this same course 
from which I have made extracts above (the typ¬ 
ical course, I believe, at least in ambitious high 
schools), the following text-books are used among 
others : Lewis’s “ First Book in Writing English,” 
Genung’s and Hill’s Rhetorics, and Baker’s "Princi¬ 
ples of Argumentation.” Three of these have been 
regarded in the past as college text-books of too 
advanced a nature for young students. There is a 
growing desire among high schools to use college 
texts-books in English, doubtless due to the fact 
that much has been said about confining the study 
of composition to the secondary schools. It is main¬ 
tained, moreover, that the high school is not designed 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 3 


for college preparation, primarily, and that, there¬ 
fore, a complete course of this important subject 
of English must be provided for in its curriculum. 
Surely all will agree that the secondary school is the 
place for learning to write. That proposition needs 
no discussion. Let us not forget it for one moment. 
As the fit place for learning one’s letters is at the 
mother’s knee, so during the early school years 
must we train the flexible mind in expression. 
By the time the youth has reached college, the 
muscles of his mind have already grown a little stiff. 
But the study of expression, oral and written, is not a 
study of figures of speech, forms of composition, and 
aesthetic qualities of style. As I have said above, the 
normal boy or girl instinctively rejects all the abstract 
things he has learned about such remote subjects. 
He continues to write badly, or less badly, as the case 
may be, quite unaffected by the rhetorical batteries 
brought to play upon his mind. 

Many teachers recognize this failure in the applica¬ 
tion of their rhetorical doctrines. Accordingly they 
assign lessons on the principles of style, but correct 
compositions for bad spelling, lax punctuation, mis¬ 
use of words, and blunders in grammar. One ex¬ 
cellent secondary text-book in composition, Professor 
A. S. Hill’s “Foundations,” is a frank recognition of this 
state of affairs. It is a skillful treatise on what not to 
do. If properly administered, this book should eradi¬ 
cate every error in the pupil’s tortured sentences. The 
author’s theory might be given as follows: “We can 


Failure of 
rhetorical 
doctrines 


Two tend¬ 
encies in 
English 
study 


4 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 

make the secondary student write correct, grammat¬ 
ical English sentences; beyond that he must shift for 
himself.” It is easy to see the result of this method 
on both student and teacher. The former becomes 
an adept in what to avoid and conceives composition 
to be a kind of skillful walking over egg-shells. Inci¬ 
dentally expression becomes a conscious, artificial 
task, irksome to contemplate, and his completed 
product is leathery in texture. On the other hand, the 
teacher narrows his field of activity to the mere cor¬ 
rection of mistakes—a safe occupation, but a deaden¬ 
ing one. The pupil on receiving his theme covered 
with little red crosses or symbols conscientiously 
writes in emended forms between the lines, much as 
he might substitute new words in his Latin translation 
for idioms questioned by his instructor in classics. It 
is a matter of finding out what fits that special 
passage on which suspicion has been cast. Expression 
in writing becomes under this system a distasteful 
and foreign occupation. He may talk easily and in¬ 
terestingly with vigorous disregard for dictionary and 
rhetoric, but he writes under the shadow of red ink. 

Fault has been found above with two tendencies in 
English study—the pretentious, over-ambitious at¬ 
tempt to teach theoretical rhetoric to students who are 
fortunate enough to realize only concrete facts; and the 
conscientious, painstaking effort towards eradication 
of errors. Of the two I am inclined to believe that the 
second is more fruitful; it certainly is more honest. 
Pupils between the ages of fifteen and eighteen 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 5 


can be taught not to use certain objectionable words; 
they may be taught the use of correct, if unidiom- 
atic, forms; they may learn after much labor how 
to use the comma in every case. I cannot believe 
that they will learn when to use a simile, nor how to 
find one, nor how to inspire their oration by the 
humorous or the sublime. I am not even sure that 
they will gain anything from a minute study of ety¬ 
mology; they may become knowing in the matter of 
suffixes and prefixes and yet continue to use claim for 
think, feel, assert , maintain , hold and every other 
verb of assertion. Neither method gets at the real 
difficulty, which I conceive to be this: The young 
student is to all intents and purposes tongue- 
tied; he perceives, he feels; he talks when you take 
him unawares; indeed, he can think when he is con¬ 
vinced that thinking is good fun. But the translation 
of these mental experiences to articulate written 
speech is somehow inhibited. To overcome this inhi¬ 
bition should be the chief aim of every teacher of 
English. No matter how many errors come with the 
fluent expression, provided there is thought in the 
expression, it will be an easy task to prune and erad¬ 
icate, to select and arrange, to soften and civilize. Give 
the rhetorician a barbarian who has feeling and words, 
and he can do something with him. But for a care¬ 
fully polished, correct, feeble writer, such as is often 
produced by the methods referred to above, there is no 
hope until he is born again. I believe that this idea 
cannot be stated too strongly; that our careful courses 


Written 

speech 

seems 

inhibited 


6 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


Remedy for 

present 

conditions 


in English are in danger of doing harm rather than good 
by increasing rather than lessening the inhibition of 
expression. College teachers will probably bear me 
out in saying that the worst feature of the English 
question as they see it on the student’s entrance to col¬ 
lege in his eighteenth year, is not merely bad grammar, 
bad spelling, bad punctuation, bad paragraphing— 
although, of course, they must insist on accuracy in 
such elementary matters—but rather a wan, thin vo¬ 
cabulary, undeveloped thought units, lack of power 
to relate two or three thoughts; in short a deplorable 
impotence, not warranted by the pupil’s abilities in 
other branches. 

What, then, is a remedy for the pretentiousness of 
the Rhetorician and the metallic infelicity of the 
Grammarian? I am not discovering new truths, and 
I have no seductive panaceas. Already the views 
stated in this paper have influenced the writings of 
some of the younger men engaged in the study of 
composition. The remedies, if found at all, will not 
be discovered at once, and will not consist of any one 
“method” to be applied ruthlessly to all minds. It may 
be well to start with a dogmatic proposition : formal 
rhetoric has no place in the secondary curriculum; 
and, what is more, under ideal conditions instruction 
in rhetoric and English composition should be reduced 
to a minimum. If high school pupils were accustomed 
to hearing and seeing good English, if the periodical 
and the press literature which make up four-fifths 
of their voluntary reading, were carefully edited, 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 7 

and if all their teachers were cultivated men and 
women, who demanded always correct and adequate 
expression of ideas in recitations as well as in frequent 
written tests, there would be no “ English question,” 
or such a small one that it could be disposed of with¬ 
out the necessity of formal courses in composition. 
But we have no reason to anticipate any such ideal 
condition of education. One has but to listen to col¬ 
lege recitations and lectures and school-room exer¬ 
cises, to learn where many of the most pernicious 
habits of expression are inculcated. The ability to 
use good English was at one time assumed to be an 
essential qualification of every liberally educated man. 
But specialization has rendered the teacher delight¬ 
fully free from the necessity of knowing any one 
thing outside his own field, even English. Therefore, 
English teachers in one hour per day at the most 
must undertake to cultivate habits that will be neg¬ 
lected and to eradicate faults that have grown during 
fourteen other hours of the day. 

In seeking for a remedy two truths should be 
emphasized : first, the pupil must have material to 
express before he receives criticism; second, he 
must practice constantly if he is to write one-half 
as easily as he talks. From the first statement it 
follows that the formal study of critical principles 
should be subordinated to practice, or in any case 
deferred until the last two years of his school 
course. The principles of composition are likely to 
resolve themselves into a series of cautions, of 


Material 

and 

practice 


8 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


don’ts, with the addition of vague exhortations to 
do. In the study of any art this must be the case. 
“ A good paragraph should have unity and continuity 
of thought.” How easy that is to say and how true 
the precept is! Yet in any given case what is contin¬ 
uity of thought? That is a matter of logical per¬ 
ception and of feeling, and the possession of it is 
won only after long experience of thought units 
which are coherent, and much struggling with disor¬ 
ganized elements of thought of one’s own. The 
same holds true of all the fundamental principles 
Experience of style. Therefore let the experience and the 
Precept struggle with the habit come first and the precept 

later later, when it will mean more than a glib sentence to 

be recited. I do not imply that the pupil’s efforts 
should lack guidance by an intelligent master, who is 
thoroughly aware of the principles at stake and firmly 
convinced of the necessity of living up to them. But 
the guidance should be concealed. For those who 
are fond of arguing by figures a parallel may be 
found in the moral world: the boy who starts with an 
assortment of ethical principles and no experiences 
will probably either reject his precepts or hopelessly 
blunder when he begins to apply them. At the mo¬ 
ment of choice the habit of doing right will stand 
him in better stead. In short, cultivate instincts; 
that is the first lesson for the teacher of composition. 
Moreover, when the time comes to teach set princi¬ 
ples, the intelligent teacher will realize how few there 
are in the art of rhetoric which are either true or help- 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 9 

ful. One school book of rhetoric enumerates one 
hundred and twenty-five separate precepts; but 
a dozen principles at the most will cover all that 
even a retentive pupil can carry with him. The rest 
of his labor will be in the difficult task of application. 

Furthermore, I would have the teacher cautious 
in administering criticism, especially of a negative 
character. Nagging is a bad habit in literary work Nagging to 
as well as in daily life. The student quickly feels avo “* e£ * 
that nagging is all there is of it, and that the 
only way not to expose himself to reproof is to 
remain in safe, well-known paths of thought, idiom, 
and word. The best criticism for us all is the 
criticism of time and experience, and the next best 
is the criticism of our mates. Specifically, I be¬ 
lieve that for a period, longer or shorter as the case 
may require, the student should be encouraged to 
write practically without criticism, or at least with¬ 
out formal red ink marks. This period of sprout¬ 
ing may be gradually curtailed, first at one point, 
then at another, until by the end of the second year 
the study of principles is well started. Such a method 
of laissez-faire will produce a large, vigorous growth 
of weeds, but when the crop is well started it is easy 
to pluck weeds without damaging the corn. The 
timid writer has been allowed to gain assurance, ease, 
and a measure of delight in his expression of ideas. 

He is rich enough in ideas and vocabulary to be 
able to dispense with weeds, to be able to select. So 
long, therefore, as the pupil is frightened into silence 


10 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


Exercises 
should be 
varied 


by a sheet of blank paper, abstain from criticism. 
What is more, stimulate him in every possible way ; 
suggest new material for him ; enrich him until he 
has the habit of organized thought well started. This 
stimulus may be given by class discussion of theme 
topics, by the preparation of different outlines on the 
same subject, and by informal talk about the writing 
when once done. And what the class has to say 
about his thoughts will help him more than a score 
of red ink or blue pencil marks. The ideal method 
would be to discuss each theme-subject with each 
student informally while out for a walk. The best 
substitute is a class discussion conducted as naturally 
as possible. The aim of this preparatory work should 
be interest. When the pupil’s mind is sufficiently 
stirred to talk on his subject, he is able to write some¬ 
thing at least. 

The nature of these early, uncriticised exercises 
should be varied and yet always definite. The young 
are admirably concrete. They do not know what to 
do when told to write a narrative, to make a descrip¬ 
tion. But give them a definite body of events and they 
will find out how to put them together. By skillful 
guidance a class may be given practice in all four 
kinds of composition without any study of the prin¬ 
ciples of narration, or exposition, etc. In this con¬ 
nection two suggestions which have been often made 
and rarely heeded, are in place. First, the pupil must 
be made to feel that writing is very much like talking, 
and that what he talks about is fit matter to write 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS II 

about. Tongue and pen are but two instruments to 
one end — expression. The second suggestion has 
to do with related subjects in the student’s mental 
life — his history, French or German, Latin, civics, 
etc. These fields may be utilized for obtaining mate¬ 
rial. The compartment idea of mental life must be 
broken up as soon as possible. It is necessary to 
remark here that at this stage of development per¬ 
haps the poorest subject is the one usually assigned— 
a “summary,” or a “review,” or a “criticism” of 
an English classic of two hundred to four hundred 
octavo pages in length. High school teachers should 
be made to try that form of exercise for themselves 
before compelling pupils fourteen or fifteen years of 
age to battle with it. 

To sum up, during the first two years of the course First two 
the work in composition should consist largely of j^g^iy 
practice (if possible, four or five short papers each practice 
week being required), of stimulus, of informal and 
practical criticism given for the most part in class. 

By the close of that period it is hoped that the stu¬ 
dent will possess a writing vocabulary of at least two 
thousand words; he will be able to write a complex 
sentence of thirty or forty words, and will have at his 
command a variety of sentence moulds ; and he will 
recognize the natural paragraph divisions of his sub¬ 
ject. Moreover, he will know how to set to work on 
his subject to develop the thought contained therein. 

If he has accomplished these results and has gained 


12 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


Teacher’s 

task 

increases 


some pleasure in composition, he has made an excel¬ 
lent start. The worst is over. 

So far the teacher’s task of criticising papers has 
been an easy one. The papers, if frequent, have been 
short, and the teacher’s remarks have been confined 
to encouragement, suggestion, and simple advice. 
Many of the papers have been merely read aloud in 
the class, where the pupils have disposed of them, 
judging their interest and naturalness and common 
sense. As the student is able now to write longer 
essays of related paragraphs, the teacher s task in¬ 
creases in complexity and difficulty. The weeds 
must be pulled up: spelling, punctuation—of which 
the real principles have already been illustrated— 
clumsy sentences, disjointed paragraphs, etc., must 
be attended to. The important advice here is to 
go slow; not to do everything at once; to wink 
at some obvious blemishes while punishing others 
severely. A few matters criticised each month, a 
gradual enlargement of the field as the pupil grows, 
constant elevation of the standard—such should be the 
procedure. In passing, attention may well be called 
to the fact that such a method relieves the teacher of 
a mass of hack work. At no time need the task of 
correcting papers become intolerable. The pupil on 
his side will not be discouraged; he will retain his 
freshness, his capacity for bravery and individuality, 
and, lastly, his pleasure in the greatest of human 
activities—expression. The range of subjects suitable 
for written treatment broadens rapidly these last two 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 13 


years, as with awakening life the boy or girl enters 
upon new fields of experience. Moreover, the study 
of literature has become by this time something ap¬ 
proaching a natural, human interest, and in its field 
the student will find material for thought. Not, how¬ 
ever, exclusively; the prescribed reading should not 
be performed to provide a field forcompositions. The 
debating club, athletics, social life, plays, books not 
on the reading lists—these all furnish forth the pupil’s 
activities and hence will provide him with fresh ideas 
for expression. 

I have said as yet little or nothing about rhetoric. 

But few teachers can be persuaded to dispense alto¬ 
gether with a formal text-book. If the right book can Nature of 
be found, it will give continuity and definiteness to * ext " 
the course. After what I have said on the inutil¬ 
ity of formal rhetoric and the slight amount of 
theory essential to the writer, small ground would 
seem to remain for the text-book. Yet, as I conceive 
the ideal text-book for rhetoric in secondary schools, 
it is after all a bulky affair. There are few pages 
of principles, of rules, of cautions—and these are fre¬ 
quently broken by long illustrations of what the author 
means—but there are numberless exercises. The 
school rhetoric should be a book of exercises grouped 
to illustrate a few pages of text. If the teacher were 
in every case experienced, and if he were not over¬ 
worked, he could doubtless provide exercises better 
adapted to his special circumstances than any one 
text-book may hope to offer. In any event, the ener- 


14 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 


Very 

simple 

theory 


getic teacher will modify, add to, or reject, a portion 
of the matter provided for him, and, moreover, his 
ingenuity will be stimulated to the construction of 
new exercises. 

The exercises should be based on a very simple 
theory of composition—the simpler the better—devel¬ 
oped in such a manner that even the dull student can 
grasp the organic relation of principles. The de¬ 
tached precepts he will forget; he will retain a 
coherent system if minutely exemplified. Again, 
the exercises should be both oral and written, and 
they should provide matter for class recitation and 
for class discussion. They should serve to de¬ 
velop inductively the cardinal principles such as 
unity, emphasis, proportion, selection, etc. Another 
important function of the exercises is to furnish 
abundant illustrative material of a varied nature. The 
best examples, the most apt passages for setting forth 
a principle are not easily found. Few school libraries 
contain enough books to answer this purpose. More¬ 
over, the student must have the passage before him 
in the class to examine as the discussion proceeds, 
and to “ mark up ” if necessary. The source of the 
illustrative matter should not be wholly popular or 
light in character, nor should it be remote and classi¬ 
cal. There is a danger in too much Addison, Burke, 
and Macaulay, and also in too much Kipling, Wal¬ 
lace, and periodical essays. When defective com¬ 
position is to be illustrated, the teacher will have 
ample material close at hand, in the work of his 


METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 15 

pupils, and also in the daily press. In such matters 
as coherence of thought, qualities of diction, and 
forms of the paragraph, the examples must neces¬ 
sarily be extended, but the intelligent teacher will not 
begrudge the space. A good example is worth a 
page of doctrine. 

But will the school rhetoric omit all discussion of Sphere of 
‘‘Qualities of Style,” of “ Figurative Expression?” 

When w'e are studying Holmes, the teacher may 
protest, shall we not analyze the nature of “ the 
Humorous ? ’’ When my class is on fire with the elo¬ 
quence of Ruskin,shall I be silent about the sources of 
“the Sublime ? ” If we are reading Keats, why not 
linger to enjoy his figures of speech ? Must we there¬ 
fore, in the rhetoric hour, lay down correct principles 
for the understanding of these vital matters? My 
reply would be that if they are necessary to the 
proper interpretation of literature, let the teacher of 
literature discuss them as long as he pleases while 
engaged with literature. But these principles or 
classifications—if they are really scientific—have 
never been made active agents in modifying the ex¬ 
pression of thought. For the purposes of practical 
rhetoric, they have no place. We may talk until we 
are weary about the sources of humor or eloquence, 
but we shall never make any one express himself 
humorously or eloquently, unless the temperament 
and the occasion are propitious. And rhetoric, as w*e 
conceive it to-day, is not the hand-maiden of litera¬ 
ture. Therefore the school rhetoric must confine 


1 6 METHODS OF TEACHING RHETORIC IN SCHOOLS 

itself to the prosaic fields of vocabulary, grammar, 
idiom, sentence and paragraph forms, and structure 
of thought. 

life In this brief discussion of a large subject, I 

tized p Ut emphasis upon the mental life of the 

pupil, and not on expression as a thing apart by it¬ 
self. What isn’t in the mind cannot come out of it. But 
I believe that the average boy or girl has more in his 
;nind than can ever get into his written work, and, 
furthermore, that by a tactful application of stimu¬ 
lants the mind can be made to provide fresh material. 
My plan is something like artificial respiration; it 
cannot put life into the dead, but it can revive the 
dying. Or to shift the figure, the teacher should be a 
skillful trainer who aims to get out of his athlete all 
the speed there is in him. Later he will attend to the 
gait. Most can be accomplished by rousing the 
student’s interest, no matter in what way or about 
what subject. Until he finds something like pleasure 
in getting his thoughts together and in putting them 
forth he will never write a good page. But as soon 
as he realizes that this activity is not an uncongenial 
one and is capable of giving him fun, he will learn 
more than any rhetoric can teach him. 


COMPOSITION AND RHETORIC 

For Use in Schools, 

BY ROBERT HERRICK, A.B., 

Assistant Professor of English, University of Chicago, and 

LINDSAY TODD DAMON, A.B., 

Instructor in English, University of Chicago. 


This book has three distinct features : 

FIRST—It provides material for a two years’ course of study, 

SECOND—Part One is entirely given up to material intended to 
lead the pupil to writing freely and naturally, and disre¬ 
gards formal Rhetoric. 

THIRD—The body of exercises far outweighs the material of 
the text proper because the authors believe that in the 
first years of training in composition, example and practice 
are far more important than precept. 


SCOTT, FORESMAN & CO., 

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378-388 Wabash Ave., Chicago. 


























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A Flower Song. 


Eleanor Smith. 


Rebecca B. Foresman- 


Allegretto. 


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1. The Bluebells rang at half past nine, And all the flowers came to dine. 

2. Then Jack-in-the-pulpit talk’d awhile And made e’en Ragged Robin smile. 



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8weet William came with Marigold, And Rose blush’d red, so I am told. 
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A Melody. 

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SAMPLE PAGE FROM 

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